Drabbles
by mettigel
Summary: Like the title says - a place for various drabbles, probably mostly focusing on R/Hr. Overall rated M just in case, but each drabble will get its separate rating in the A/N.
1. Fascination

_Author's Notes: I'm feeling rather inspired these days so I thought it was time for me to create a little "dump" into which I could throw some little drabbles, deleted scenes from other fics of mine, and stuff like that. Judging by what I tend to write about, this will probably have a heavy emphasis on R/Hr, but it might contain some other stuff as well, depending on what my brain might sneeze out in the future. Also, these drabbles aren't posted in chronological or otherwise specified order unless explicitly stated. _

_The below drabble is something I had wanted to write for a while now, but I couldn't fit it into any of the bigger things I had in mind, so in here it goes. Enjoy!_

_Rating: K_

_Disclaimer: If this was mine, I wouldn't need my job. Make out of that what you will._

* * *

**Fascination**

It was their first Hogsmeade weekend and while Hermione knew that it was probably for his best (there was a crazed murderer out for his blood, after all) she felt sad that Harry could not be with Ron and her. He would have liked the bustle in the quirky little shops: The Three Broomsticks, Honeyduke's, Zonko's... It seemed to her as though they had gotten _everywhere_. Eventually, the two of them had even walked up to the Shrieking Shack.

"It's 'the most haunted building in Britain'," Hermione quoted a passage from _'Hogwarts: A History'_ as she walked over to the fence that separated the shack from the rest of the hill.

"Yeah, I know," she heard Ron's voice from somewhere behind her. "Mad stuff is said to live in there. Ghosts, werewolves, vampires, big hairy spiders and all that."

Hermione turned around and was amused to see Ron standing good ten meters away from her, looking rather uneasy.

"Aren't you going to come nearer?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Nah, I'm fine here," he replied. "It's not that I'm scared," he added defiantly when she raised her second brow and she knew it was a blatant lie. "But if you'd spent half your life hearing all sorts of things about this place from your older brothers, it'd surely leave an impression, right? You probably hadn't even _known_ about things like werewolves and vampires before you got your Hogwarts letter."

"Actually, I had," Hermione said.

"How come? You grew up among Muggles."

"Muggles know about them," Hermione explained. "I mean, they don't exactly _believe_ in them as living, breathing creatures, but they have a general idea and think of them as fantasy characters. They often play roles in books and such. In fiction."

"Wicked," Ron said, amazed. "What else do Muggles know about our world?"

"Just a few details," Hermione said. "That wizards - and _witches_, I should add - wear robes. And that they use wands to perform magic. And that they brew potions. And travel by brooms. Things like that. But there's a lot of things they don't know. I'd never have thought there was a _wizarding school_, for instance."

She studied Ron's face which clearly conveyed the keen interest with which he was listening, but there was also something else in his gaze, something that she could not quite place... But then he bashfully lowered his head and she could not see it anymore.

"I've never thought about what your life was like before you came to Hogwarts," he said quietly.

"It wasn't very exciting. Boring, even," Hermione admitted, thinking back about a time when she had no friends and her parents were busy with their dental practice most of the time.

Ron's head immediately whipped up.

"Not _exciting_?" he blurted out. "Blimey, you come from a _different world_! How can that not be exciting? Actually..." he lowered his gaze again. "Actually that's what I've always found fascinating about you," he added and every part of his face that Hermione could see took on a fiery shade of red.

"You find me... _fascinating_?" Hermione asked in wonder, feeling herself redden as well.

"Uh-huh," came the answer and Hermione knew that Ron found that he had said way too much.

Hermione contemplated this new piece of information. She had already witnessed a number of different reactions to her blood status. In the Muggle world, her uncontrolled pre-Hogwarts outbursts of magic had made her a sort of freak. At Hogwarts, most of the teachers and students did not seem to care, others were patronizing and then there were those who openly loathed her. But this scrawny, sometimes obnoxious boy by her side found it _fascinating_.

And it warmed her from the inside.


	2. No Way Out

_Author's Notes: This is a part of my very first draft of my story "Healing", which, as you can see below, originally started much earlier than the published story does. With hindsight, I'm glad I shortened the beginning because too much of it was just copy/paste from the book, but I'm rather fond of this part, so I dumped it here for your enjoyment. Ah, and I see that my habit of avoiding contractions in the narrative parts was not yet developed when I wrote this. Oh, well._

_Rating: M, mostly for language, though it might not be all that bad. I'm paranoid._

_Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish._

* * *

**No Way Out**

Her tormented screams were ringing in his ears as he raced around in the dark, damp room, frantically searching for a hole or marking or hook or loose brick in the raw stone walls... _anything_ that might indicate at a secret passageway, but as far as he could make out in the dim light of the orbs from his Deluminator, there was nothing.

Ron kept running, stumbled, almost fell to the ground. _'There has to be a way out, there's gotta be a way out,'_ he thought to himself as he picked himself up. Accumulating all this willpower, he tried to focus hard on Hermione, and turned on the spot. He knew that it was probably pointless. Surely, Ollivander and Luna had already attempted to Apparate out of the cellar, but as long as there was still a little hope left, he didn't, _couldn't_ leave any stone unturned.

It didn't work.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, panic rising inside him. He tried it again, focusing on the salon, on the floor above them, on just _anywhere_ but this cursed dungeon, but be it because of his lack of a wand or any anti-Apparition jinx lying on the room, it was no avail.

"There's no way out, Ron. The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr Ollivander has been here for a long time, he's tried everything," _[1]_ Luna said. Ron wished she would shut up. He didn't want to hear this confirmation, shattering this last tiny bit of hope. He slammed his forehead against the cold stone wall and banged his fist against it in frustration.

Then there was another scream, and it made his blood run cold. Frozen solid to the spot, his breath becoming fast and shallow, he raised his head and his panic completely overcame him as he heard Bellatrix' voice, loud and clearly and distorted with rage.

"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!" _[2]_

"HERMIONE!" Ron yelled from the top of his lungs as he could now hear her let out one horrible scream after another, hoping beyond hope that calling her name would magically bring him to her, or stop her pain, or make her tormenter draw back, or just... _something_... and tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to bang his fists against the wall to let out the irrepressible energy created by his seething terror, half hoping to tear down the wall by doing so, so hard that the edges of his hands burst open. He barely registered that Harry was agitatedly speaking behind him. The only thing his mind was set on was Hermione. Hermione, the love of his life, in agony, tortured, possibly driven into insanity just like Neville's parents and ultimately killed and fed to that bastard son of a bitch Greyback, all just one floor above him, and there was nothing he could do about it, caged up in this fucking shithole of a dungeon!

_'No, this mustn't happen,'_ he thought to himself as he carried on yelling her name in desperation, his entire body shaken with dread. Hermione couldn't die, mustn't die, not tonight and definitely not like that! He couldn't bear the thought of Hermione being dead, he couldn't, _didn't_ _want to_ live if she was no more. Upstairs, Hermione was still screaming, and with every scream of hers, his desperation, fear, anger and feeling of sheer hopelessness grew, tearing up his heart, drowning him. In between all this, the memory of his offer to Bellatrix to take him in her stead flashed up in his mind and in his despair, he realized that she eventually _had_ gotten him as well - by torturing Hermione, she was simultaneously torturing him, too.

"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"_[3] _he heard Bellatrix screech.

"We only met him tonight! We've never been into your vault... it isn't the real sword! It's just a copy! Just a copy!" _[4] _Hermione responded, her voice choked with sobs, and somewhere inside Ron's chest, a little spark of hope suddenly lit up. Hearing Hermione speak in that voice was unsettling, but her ability to build coherent sentences meant that she was still conscious... and sane...

* * *

_[1] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature Edition, p. 513 © 2010 J.K. Rowling_

_[2] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature Edition, p. 513 © 2010 J.K. Rowling_

_[3] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature Edition, p. 514 © 2010 J.K. Rowling_

_[4] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature Edition, p. 514 © 2010 J.K. Rowling_


	3. The Takeoff

_Author's Notes__: This is the beginning of a story I never published. I have no intention of finishing that fic but I also don't want it to go fully wasted, and since I actually like this part, it goes into the dump._

_Rating__: K_

_Disclaimer__: Still not mine. Sigh._

* * *

**The Takeoff**

Ron looked around in wonder as he pushed himself through the narrow aisle of the plane, turning his head into all directions, trying to take in everything at once. Hermione, who was walking closely behind him, watched him with mild amusement. It was more than obvious that Ron had never travelled by plane before. Granted, even for Muggles, the first plane flight was normally an exciting event, but to Ron, it must seem as if he had been catapulted onto a completely different planet. He was not used to travelling in a completely unmagical manner, let alone in a giant flying vehicle which had such curiosities as monitors mounted above the aisles or all sorts of buttons or other whatnots above each of the many seats. She chuckled quietly to herself as her thoughts drifted to Ron's dad. If Ron was already amazed by all of that, their travel must seem like both Christmas and his birthday all at once to the older Weasley if he had been in their stead.

Eventually, they found their assigned seats. Ron awkwardly pressed himself against the aisle seat in the row before so that Hermione could squeeze past him and take the seat by the window. When she had sat down, Ron plopped into the seat next to her.

"I wonder how Muggles can stand travelling like this," he muttered as he watched more people push past them, most of whom looking either annoyed, anxious or confused. "How often do Muggles go by plane, Hermione?"

"Not all too often. If at all, most only go perhaps once or twice per year, for vacation," she replied, leaning back in her seat and letting the last remnants of the mildly claustrophobic feeling that the struggle to their seats had given to her slowly dissipate. "But there are also people doing it every couple of days due to their job. Certain kinds of businesspersons, for instance."

"Blimey, if I ever take on a Muggle job, I know exactly what _not_ to become," Ron said under his breath, visibly appalled.

"I'm surprised that this is all so new for you," Hermione admitted, frowning slightly. "I mean, you've already been to Egypt. How did you get there?"

"By Floo," Ron said, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him. "It was a wizard hotel after all. Took bloody forever to get there, though. I thought I'd never get out of the Network again."

Hermione nodded in understanding, realizing why they could not have Flooed as well. Egypt was so much closer to England than Australia after all. She did not want to imagine how long it must take to Floo halfway around the world. As far as she was concerned, Flooing the rather short distance between the Burrow and the Leaky Cauldron was already enough of a stomach-turning ordeal.

A few minutes passed in which Ron let his eyes wander across their surroundings and observed the other passengers who squeezed their ways to their seats and hoisted their carry-on baggage onto the shelf above their respective seats. His brow furrowed more with every minute.

"I can't imagine how this thing's supposed to go up in the air, let alone stay there," he muttered, his face becoming slightly paler. "I mean, it's freaking _huge_!"

Hermione plunged herself into a detailed explanation of airplane physics but Ron barely seemed to listen. His face just turned paler and paler and eventually took on a light tinge of green.

Eventually, all passengers were seated and several minutes later, a stewardess stepped into the aisle and gave safety instructions. Ron practically hung on her lips as she talked, as if he was trying to memorize every single word she said. Hermione almost laughed out as she watched him, his forehead creased and his lips moving as he apparently repeated the stewardess' words to himself. His concentration was almost palpable. She thought that she had never seen him that focused, not even when studying for their life-impacting O.W.L. exams. Then again, she remembered with a smile that she had acted in a very similar manner on her own first flight, but rather due to her want to not miss out on any information than because of fear as in Ron's case.

"Hermione, I don't think I can do this," Ron whined once the stewardess had stopped talking and walked out of the aisle, his voice strangely squeaky. "No matter what you said, this is impossible! _Impossible!_ This bloody plane can never stay up! It just can't!"

"Well, maybe you can now understand why I don't like brooms," Hermione couldn't help saying. "I've never understood how one can fly _those_ without falling off."

"But that's _magic_!" Ron said, his eyes bulging slightly. "But _this_ is... What did you say? It's an _airstream_ that keeps the plane up? How the hell can a bit of _air_ lift this thing? It must weigh, like, five hundred bloody tons!"

"Ron, I know that this isn't easy to imagine but believe me when I say that the plane is considered the safest of all Muggle vehicles, even much safer than cars," Hermione explained with what felt to her like the patience of a saint. "The odds of a plane accident are as good as naught. I promise, nothing will happen here. You trust me, right?"

"Well, I trust _you_," Ron said weakly. "But I don't think I can trust this _plane_."

A few more minutes passed and then the plane's engines flared up and the plane started to slowly roll towards the runway. Ron began to break in a sweat, his entire body tensed up and his face now definitely green.

Then the plane arrived at the runway and came to a halt, making Ron sigh deeply with relief and relax again. But it was only short-lived calm as just a few minutes later, the plane started to roll another time, faster than before, its engines roaring violently. Ron tensed up again, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands cramping on both his armrests. He looked as if he was about to throw up at any moment.

And then the plane took off.

"Hermione," Ron whimpered. His hands were now clutching the armrests so firmly that his knuckles had turned white.

Hermione immediately reached over, covering his large hand with her smaller one. He slightly relaxed at her touch but his eyes remained shut and he was muttering to himself. Hermione could make out the words _"Impossible... Bloody airstream... We're all gonna die..."_

Eventually, the plane had reached its destined altitude and slowly tilted back into a horizontal position. Ron leaned back in his seat, visibly relieved and taking some quick shallow breaths that made his chest heave. His fringe was drenched in cold sweat.

It took him a couple of more minutes to finally open his eyes. He looked around erratically as though he was half expecting to see a scene of disaster and then his eyes found Hermione who was beaming at him. He let out a short nervous laugh.

"I can't believe it," he said breathlessly. "I made it! _We_ made it! We're really up there!"

"Yes, we are," Hermione said, smiling warmly. "I'm so proud of you!"

And with that, she leant over and kissed him on the cheek.

"It wasn't that bad now, was it?" she asked.

"No, it wasn't," Ron said sheepishly. "You were there."

Hermione felt her face heat up but her smile only grew wider. She lifted his hand off the armrest into her lap where she covered it with both of hers and gently started to stroke it. They both were now relaxed and at ease.

This state lasted about half an hour.

"Hermione," Ron whined again.

Taking a sip from the ginger ale that the stewardess had brought to her in the meantime, she rolled her eyes with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "What is it, Ron?"

"My legs are getting numb," Ron complained.

Hermione looked and could not help but sympathize. With his long legs, Ron was sitting in an awfully cramped position, his knees pressed tightly against the seat in front of him. She dearly hoped that the person occupying said seat would not tilt it for sleep, otherwise Ron would have a problem.

"We could get up and walk a bit," she suggested. "That helps."

Ron skeptically eyed the narrow aisle. "I doubt it," he said. "I can barely move my arms walking there. Who on earth do they build these planes for, garden gnomes?"

Hermione brought a hand to his thigh and gently rubbed it. "Don't worry. It'll be over soon."


	4. Conflicted

_Author's Notes__: This was inspired by a discussion I had lately, fitting into the time of my story "The Early '98". _

_Rating__: K_

_Disclaimer__: Mine, all mine. Nah. Just kidding. Myself._

* * *

**Conflicted**

"For Heaven's sake, Ron! Do I look like I'm not able to look after myself?"

"N-no, of course not! I'd just feel better if you weren't by yourself is all."

"But you can't come. Someone's gotta stay with Harry since he's got no wand."

"Then why not wait until he's awake? Then he can come with you. Or better yet, he can have my wand and _I'll_ come."

"Because we need food _now_ and not God knows when Harry wakes up."

"Then let _me_ go and _you_ stay with Harry!"

"Oh, goddammit, Ron! If all this fuss is just because I'm the _girl_, at least speak it out directly, will you? And just for the record: I don't need any special treatment just because of my gender! I _want_ to go and I _will_ go and _you_ won't stop me. You wouldn't if I was Harry, would you?"

"I didn't say... I mean..."

"Then stop fussing and let me go!"

"Well, _all right_. But please take care of yourself, okay?"

"Of course I will. Honestly, sometimes I wonder what you take me for."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned around and marched into the woods to Apparate into the nearby village. Ron sighed out in frustration. Of course, he knew that she was more than capable and belittling her was the last thing he wanted to do. And still, he could not help but worry. The world around them was not safe; sick things were out there: Death Eaters, Snatchers, Dementors and Ron did not want to know what else, and in the light of this, he sometimes felt that Hermione was just too confident for her own good. If he could have his way, he would join her anywhere just to be sure that she was all right. But he knew that things did not work that way with her and so he sat in front of the tent, his insides clenched with concern, anxiously waiting for Hermione to return.


	5. His Motivation

_Author's Notes__: Omigosh, the second update within one day! Protective!Ron is such an inspiration, granted._

_Rating__: T, for hate mail citations._

_Disclaimer__: Sigh._

* * *

**His Motivation**

Dozens and dozens of owls were swooping through the little kitchen, dropping letters onto the breakfast table, some of which Hermione opened and read with an admirable air of nonchalance while she was eating her toast. This scene was most certainly not unfamiliar to Ron but he was not sure if he would ever get used to it.

After entering employment in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione had made a comet-like career in the Ministry of Magic and was now high up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The actions she had been taking in her job had always stirred some controversy within certain alcoves of the Wizarding society - while most of them had aimed at granting more rights to hitherto oppressed creatures and half-breeds, she was also working to overthrow the ancient, partially outrageous laws that had been specifically designed to benefit pureblood wizards. Needless to say, every new legislation of hers was promptly followed by a day-long inrush of owls, lots of which delivering letters of wholehearted thanks, but then there were others that made Ron's stomach churn with concern and rage. Voldemort might have been history, but there was still a frightening lot of people out there who strongly believed in pureblood supremacy.

And just two days ago, Hermione had filled a loophole in a law that had allowed members of the "old families" to buy themselves out of punishment after the commitment of specific crimes against Muggles. From the way Hermione was huffing and scoffing as she now tossed the letters to the side, Ron could deduce that the reactions were not of the enthusiastic kind to say the least. Despite his better judgment, he took some of the letters that Hermione had read and skimmed through them himself.

_"I will find your family and murder you in your sleep,"_ one letter said. _"Filthy treacherous Mudblood cunt..."_, _"Back in the Good Days, the likes of you would have been sliced open and fed to the werewolves..."_ - there even was a photo of Hermione in which she was sitting on a park bench, wiping ice-cream from the mouth of little Hugo.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Ron set aside the letters and kept watching Hermione without really seeing her. He could not believe that there were seriously people out there who wanted the death of his wonderful wife and even of their sweet innocent children who were currently blissfully sleeping up in their rooms. And he was gladder than ever that he was an Auror and in the position to protect them. He might have first become interested in this sort of job at age fourteen because it was _cool_, but what had given him the determination to actually pull it through was the thought that he could contribute to a world which was safe for Hermione to live in. And he swore to himself that he would always protect his family, no matter what it took.


	6. Relaxation

_Author's Notes__: I decided to post another part of my abandoned story since I actually like this one as well. It starts where my drabble #3 ("The Takeoff") finishes._

_Rating__: T, for mild graphicness._

_Disclaimer__: Not mine._

* * *

**Relaxation**

_"My legs are getting numb," Ron complained._

_Hermione looked and could not help but sympathize. With his long legs, Ron was sitting in an awfully cramped position, his knees pressed tightly against the seat in front of him. She dearly hoped that the person occupying said seat would not tilt it for sleep, otherwise Ron would have a problem._

_"We could get up and walk a bit," she suggested. "That helps."_

_Ron skeptically eyed the narrow aisle. "I doubt it," he said. "I can barely move my arms walking there. Who on earth do they build these planes for, garden gnomes?"_

_Hermione brought a hand to his thigh and gently rubbed it. "Don't worry. It'll be over soon."_

Hermione was right - eventually it _was_ over, but "soon" was surely up for debate. 28 hours, 42 minutes and 9 seconds later found a very disheveled Ron and an incredibly bushy-haired Hermione in front of the door to their hotel suite, both pale and with dark circles under their eyes. Rather bleary-eyed, Hermione erratically swiped her keycard over a scanner below the door handle until the lock finally clicked open.

The suite was decked in light colors and was reasonably spacious. It contained two queen-size beds, the one nearest them close to a window offering a stunning view at the nighttime city lights. There was also a large TV opposite the beds as well as a mini bar, a walk-in wardrobe and a bathroom cubicle on the far side of the suite. This all was courtesy of Harry who, in defiance of all their protests, had insisted in paying for the whole trip as a sort of thank-you gift for sticking with him during the Horcrux hunt.

Ron picked up their bags and carried them inside - he had suggested to only bring along the beaded bag but Hermione had objected, pointing out that it would look suspicious if the two of them traveled halfway around the world with no visible baggage.

"Well, you get the view, I get the loo," he said with a chuckle and placed Hermione's bag near the bed by the window. Hermione lightly shook her head at his lame rhyme and turned to close the door behind them.

Having dropped his own bag near the bed that was further away, Ron kicked off his shoes and threw himself face-down onto the mattress. He extended his limbs, stretching them as far as possible which caused his joints to pop lightly. He let out a little moan in obvious appreciation of the freedom he now had after all those hours of being stuck in the plane.

Watching him with a strong feeling of affection, Hermione walked over to him, stepped out of her shoes and sat on the edge of his bed. In an almost motherly fashion, she reached over and gently ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up even more than it already had been. Ron let out a contented sigh and Hermione moved her hand further down to caress his neck. Ron sighed again, his breath quickening, apparently greatly enjoying her touch. She let her hand slide down to his shoulders which, to her concern, felt as tense as his neck.

"Ron," she said, suddenly feeling bold. "Take off your shirt!"

Ron turned his head towards her, looking as if he thought he had not heard correctly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Take it off," Hermione said, more decidedly. "And lie on your stomach again."

Ron eyed her warily but obeyed. He slowly sat up and removed his shirt.

Lightly blushing, Hermione bit her lip as she watched and let her eyes wander over his body. Having always been of a rather lanky build, Ron was not exactly buff and the past months on the run with a constant lack of food had clearly taken their toll on him like they also had on Harry and Hermione herself. Nevertheless, she found that he was still filled out nicely and looking indecently handsome.

He laid back down and she smiled as her eyes roamed his bare back that was now presented to her with his broad and strong-looking shoulders and slim waist. She shortly considered straddling him but realized that this would bring along an intimacy that she had not planned for right now, especially seeing how uncomfortable Ron already seemed to feel as it was. So the only scooted closer to him as, feeling slightly nervous, she placed her hands on his shoulders and started to massage him.

His milky white skin was warm and soft and felt good under her hands as she kneaded his tense shoulders with growing confidence and then moved further below, rubbing his shoulder blades in slow circles. With satisfaction, she noted that the fine hairs on his neck were standing up on end.

"Is that okay?" Hermione asked.

"That feels great, Hermione," Ron moaned. "Please don't stop."

Hermione continued to massage him and she smiled as he relaxed more and more under her hands. Overcome by another surge of affection, she bent down and blew a gentle kiss upon the nape of his neck. She felt him shiver immediately and encouraged by that, she worked her way up, sending a trail of soft kisses up the side of his neck. He groaned with pleasure and she smiled to herself, proud of the effect she had on him.

She kissed the spot where his neck connected with his jaw, then behind his ear and then she dug her nose into the hair on the back of his head, noting with joy that even despite all those hours in the plane, it still bore its typical scent that she found to infatuating. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she let her nose plow through his hair, rubbing his scalp, while her hand glided along his shoulder, down his arm...

And then she stopped in terror.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. It was not supposed to be there, and yet it _was_...

"Ron?" she asked, her voice unnaturally high.

"Mmm?"

"Ron, sit up, please," Hermione said. Her voice was now on the verge of hysteria and her heart was racing. She sat up and, clinging to his shoulder, pulled him along with her.

"What is it?" Ron asked, blinking with confusion as he turned around to face her.

"Is this..." Hermione said, touching his arm. "Is this... from where I s-splinched you last year?"

* * *

_So, this is it. The original story gets, in my opinion, kind of downhill from here, which is why I cut it at this point. _

_For clarification: The thing Hermione discoverd on Ron's arm is a scar that indeed stemmed from the Splinching and the original story continues with Ron and Hermione discussing their various scars. But I was not content with it; it has an awkward dialog, an overall weird composition and it just doesn't really flow with me. I was considering completely rewriting it but eventually, I gave up on it and abandoned it. So, yeah..._

_It served as inspiration for the first paragraphs of "Something to Remind You", though._


	7. Body-Bind Brain

_Author's Notes__: Lately, I have seen a good amount of fan art in which Ron has scars from the brain attack all the way up to his shoulders and it made me second-guess my head canon._

_As the books only mention marks on his forearms, I have always assumed that they were the only parts of Ron's body that were affected because his clothes were enough to shield him from the brain and he must have either worn something short-sleeved or had his sleeves rolled up when the brain attacked him._

_I still prefer to think that way, but what if the books only mention his forearms because that was all that Harry got to see? And what if the attack was in fact more gruesome than Harry thought?_

_Well, it got me writing again._

_Rating__: M for creepiness and some swearing._

_Disclaimer__: Not mine._

* * *

**Body-Bind Brain**

Ron did not understand the whole commotion nor why all the people in the room were so keen on fighting each other. Not when there were so many more interesting things to explore. Such as the giant tank in the middle of the room.

He clumsily rose to his feet and staggered nearer towards the tank to have a closer look. It contained a strange green liquid that emitted a fluorescent glow and there were things swimming in it - large pearly white things that looked like funny-shaped fish.

Brains.

Brain fish.

Holy shit, this place was getting weirder with every minute.

"Hey!" he said when he spotted Harry a few feet away and stepped over to him, wanting to share his discovery. "Hey, Harry, there are _brains_ in here, ha ha ha, isn't that weird, Harry?" _[1]_

He broke into more giggles when he imagined Hermione's reaction in the face of all the accumulated knowledge in this tank. Surely, these brains would completely destroy her in every single O.W.L. of hers.

Ignoring Harry's fearful shout, Ron trained his wand at the tank.

"Honest, Harry, they're brains," _[2]_ he replied, rolling his eyes at his friend. He had no idea why he was so scared. What the hell were those brains supposed to do? Brains were good. If anything, they would surely make him _smarter_ if he could just get a hold on one. Yeah, this must be it.

"Look," he said, determined to prove it to Harry. "_Accio!_" _[2]_

And with that, one of the brains flew high into the air and soared towards Ron. And then, the most peculiar thing happened.

Emitting a strange whirring noise, several thin feelers unwound themselves from within the brain which was now rapidly spinning around its axis and Ron was reminded of a weird sort of flying octopus that was stretching out its tentacles. The things were colorful, in fact it looked as if its many colors were _moving around_, and sparkling in the dim light. It was eerily beautiful.

"Ha ha ha, Harry, look at it-" Ron called with fascination. "Harry, come and touch it; bet it's weird-" _[2]_

"RON, NO!" _[2]_ came Harry's response. Ignoring him, Ron caught the brain in his hands, feeling smug as if he had just caught the Quaffle in an important match.

The brain indeed felt weird, unexpectedly soft and squishy. He watched with affection as the tentacles gently curled around his forearms, like a faithful pet greeting his master. He felt a strange urge to press the brain against his cheek and cuddle it.

"Harry, look what's happen-" _[2] _he started, proud that the brain seemed to have taken a liking to him, but his sentence was cut off when the tentacles contracted and a sharp pain shot through his arms. He pushed the brain away from himself, but the tentacles only tightened their hold on him and relentlessly made their way up to his shoulders.

"No - no - I don't like it-" Ron cried out, panic-stricken, when he realized that the brain was not going to let go of him. "No, stop - _stop_-" _[2]_

But instead of stopping, the tentacles were now coiling around his neck and chest and, scared that they might suffocate him, he released the brain to tear the feelers off of him but it was no avail. They were too strong. And to add to his horror, the brain did not dangle from its tentacles but instead reeled itself up and with a disgusting wet slurping sort of sound, it firmly latched itself onto Ron's middle where he felt the potion in which the brain had swum seep into his shirt.

"_Diffindo!_" _[2] _Harry barked and shot a jet of light at one of the feelers but nothing happened except that the tentacles were now starting to wrap around Ron's stomach.

And then, the wind was knocked out of Ron by a tentacle that forcefully punched him in the gut as it curled around his waist. He toppled backwards and crashed onto the cold stone floor. And then his world was plunged into chaos.

The pain became overbearing and, yowling in panic and agony, he trashed and rolled wildly on the floor. All he could see was a blur of colors and silhouettes that were swirling before his eyes and his ears were filled by the noise of voices and footsteps and the whirring and sizzling of the tentacles that were tightly wrapping themselves up and down his torso.

"_Stubefy!_" he heard Neville's voice somewhere close by and suddenly he realized that his world had become significantly calmer. "Ron, hold still, I cab'd aim-"

With enormous willpower, Ron threw himself onto his back, panting, his upper body throbbing with pain. He could feel the wiggling of the tentacles that were now trapped beneath him.

"Ha ha, Neville, you're sounding funny," Ron could not help but giggle. He looked up and saw his friend kneel beside him, his blond fringe drenched in sweat and his nose unnaturally big and purple. Momentarily forgetting about the brain, Ron giggled some more at this comical sight.

"_Stubefy!_" Neville yelled again, pointing his wand at the creepily pulsating brain on Ron's chest. "_Reducdo! Imbedibenda!_"

But nothing happened. The feelers were now slithering around Ron's legs like glistening serpents. As he looked down at himself, he realized with terror that they had shredded his robes wherever they had wound around him. And panic gripped him again.

"Neville, do something!" he shouted, wildly flailing his arms and legs. "Blithering fuck, _do_ something!"

"I'b drying, I'b drying!" Neville cried breathlessly and ran a torn sleeve across his sweaty forehead. "_Finide ingandadeb! Imbedibenda! Bedrifigus Dodalus! _Id's nod worging, Ron! It doesn'd worg!"

"Go get Harry then!"

"He's nod here! He's fighding de Dead Eaders!"

Yes, of course Harry was fighting. He was so brave...

"Harry's the hero," Ron said reminiscently, wincing as the feelers cut into the skin on his legs. "Always the hero. You should be with him, Neville."

"_Whad?_" Neville blurted out. "No, I'b nod leabing you, Ron!"

"I'm not so important," Ron said through gritted teeth. "But Harry is. He's always the hero. He's fighting Death Eaters. What's a brain against that, Neville, huh? Honest, I'll be fine!"

And he tugged some more on the feelers on his chest for good measure.

"Bud-"

"GO!" Ron yelled out, both out of frustration and of pain.

Still frantically pulling at the tentacles, he saw Neville hesitantly struggle to his feet and make his way out of the room. He might have wanted him to stay had he not known that it was too late.

He could not be helped.

And he most certainly could not help himself.

The pain was just too much. Still emitting whirring and slurping noises, the brain was pulsating faster than ever as though feeding off of him and the tentacles were everywhere and he felt as if they were fusing with his bare skin as they were cutting into him, squeezing him, burning him.

He was wasting his strength trying to free himself and he knew it. He was not Harry. Harry was strong and brave and powerful. And he, Ron, was not.

_'And this is the end of Ron Weasley, the dimwit. Killed by a brain,'_ he thought to himself, giggling at the cruel irony as he succumbed to his bonds that were still twining around him.

* * *

_[1] Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, UK Edition, p. 876, 2003 J.K. Rowling_

_[2] Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, UK Edition, p. 877, 2003 J.K. Rowling_

* * *

_Aww, poor Ron! And poor you if you had expected something nice and fluffy and Romione-centered. Sorry for that. But didn't I say that this dump would also contain other stuff? Yeah, I herewith manifested my threat! *evil cackle*  
_


	8. Marked

_Author's Notes__: finchelromionelover, you asked for a hospital scene after the events in drabble #7 (Body-Bind Brain), and since I had a vague idea for that anyway, I just decided to write that. Not sure if this is what you had in mind, though._

_Rating__: K+, I guess. I suck at rating._

_Disclaimer__: Mine, mine, mine. Ah, if I say that often enough, maybe it will happen. No? Oh, darn._

_Well, everything you recognize belongs to JKR. *sigh*_

* * *

**Marked**

The next hours - or were it days? - felt like a blur to Ron. He vaguely remembered Harry running after someone, being picked up and feeling coolness all over his body. He also remembered light and the presence and voices of people around him. But most of all, he remembered darkness.

He groggily opened his eyes, blinking against the light that, albeit dim, still felt harsh to his unaccustomed eyes. He instantly knew that something was wrong. His body was strangely numb and felt as if it was covered in something cool and slick. He warily looked around and realized that he was lying in a bed in the Hospital Wing.

He carefully sat up, groaning as he felt his head throb and his whole body sting. Something brushed against the side of his neck as he moved and when his blanket slid off him, his attention was caught by something white that was sticking out of his sleeve.

A bandage.

And he realized that, in fact, his whole body was wrapped in bandages.

What the hell had happened to him?

Then, suddenly, he heard footsteps and he saw Madam Pomfrey walk over to him from behind the screen that was blocking his view at the bed next to his.

"Mr Weasley, what in the name of Merlin are you thinking, getting up?" she scolded.

"Madam Pomfrey, what happened?" Ron asked frantically, ignoring her. "Where are the others?"

The nurse emitted a weary sigh. "Your friends are perfectly fine," she finally deigned to say. "They ought to be sleeping in their dormitories if they know what's good for them. Only Miss Granger is still here," she added, tilting her head towards the shield between the beds.

"_Hermione?_" Ron cried out in shock and sat more upright. "Is she all right? What happened to her?"

"She was hit by a curse, but she'll be fine," Madam Pomfrey explained. "I just checked on her. She's sleeping. Which is why I strongly recommend you to lower your voice, for Heaven's sake!"

"Oh, sorry," Ron said sheepishly, his voice now significantly lower. "C-can I see her?"

"Yes, but it'll have to wait until she's woken up. She's in need of some rest."

Ron nodded. "Okay," he whispered, lowering his gaze for a moment and gulped before he looked back up at the nurse.

"But what happened to _me_?"

"You don't remember?"

Ron thought, hard, but then shook his head.

"No," he said. "Last thing I know is that we were in this weird room with all those planets and then I think I was hit by something..."

"It was a Befuddlement Jinx," Madam Pomfrey said. "It made you feel drunk and lose control over your actions. And it should also be the reason why you cannot remember."

"W-what did I _do_?" Ron asked, feeling alarmed.

"You were attacked by a brain-"

"A _brain_?"

"Yes, Mr Weasley, a _brain_. The Ministry uses them to study the impact of thoughts, memories and emotions. Well, be as it may, the brain attacked you and you were wounded by its Thought Tentacles."

_Thought Tentacles._ If Ron had not been so horrified, he would have thought that this was one of the twins' bad horror stories. But it had to be true. At any rate, it would explain all those bandages around him.

"Can I... Can I see?" he asked hesitantly.

Madam Pomfrey just looked at him for a moment, looking apprehensive. "Yes," she then said, sounding as though she was acting against her better judgment. "I was going to renew your bandages anyway. But I must warn you, it's not a pleasant sight."

Ron felt his heartbeat quicken in tense anticipation as Madam Pomfrey helped him out of his pajamas but when she started to unravel his bandages, he shut his eyes, uncertain if he really wanted to see.

"Mr Weasley," he heard her say when she had eventually taken all bandages off of him and he reluctantly opened his eyes and slowly lowered his gaze to look down at himself. And then he stopped breathing.

He was smeared in what must have been a salve of sorts. He had expected that. What he had not been prepared for, however, was the fact that his entire body was streaked by numerous long, deep, angry red welts that appeared to curl all around him like ivy on a tree, standing out harshly against his pale skin.

"Will I... Will I stay like this forever?" he finally managed to ask, unable to turn his gaze away from his disfigured legs.

"I started applying an Oblivious Unction yesterday and it has already shown good results," Madam Pomfrey said. "I'm positive that over time, there will be significant improvement, but at this point, I'm afraid that I cannot yet promise you that your marks will ever disappear completely."

Tears prickled behind Ron's eyes as he faintly remembered that he had summoned the brain because he had wanted to touch it. He had made himself vulnerable and left his friends to their own devices in the midst of a battle because of an idiotic whim. And now he would be paying for it. His whole body would forever bear the mark of his stupidity.

* * *

_Writing this actually made me wonder if Ron might have a tendency for considering scars and other blemishes on him as a sort of (self-)punishment. It would, in my opinion, explain why he did not get his bird wounds treated in HBP and why he did not have his fingernails regrow in DH. What are your thoughts?_


	9. What's in a Name?

_Author's Note__: I think after the previous two drabbles, a healthy dose of fluff is now in order. Enjoy!_

_Rating__: K+ for mild swearing_

_Disclaimer__: *checks bank account* Nope, still not mine, apparently._

* * *

**What's in a Name?**

A rustle and some stirring beside her startled Hermione out of her thoughts. She let her gaze wander through the semi-darkness that surrounded the bedroom until it fell onto the originator - Ron, her fiancé of a few hours' standing who had turned on his side of their bed - and on its way, it grazed the digital alarm clock on Ron's bedside table. She cringed when the red glowing numbers told her that it was already past three in the morning. She had been so immersed in her thoughts that she had not realized that she had spent half the night sitting up, knees drawn to her chest underneath her blanket, thinking.

"Mynee, ustillup?" came Ron's slurring voice, slightly muffled by his pillow.

"Hmm..."

"Whassamatter?" he mumbled, let out a yawn and rubbed his eyes as he slowly sat up beside her.

"I was thinking."

"Course you were," Ron chuckled and the silvery starlight that was falling in through the windows gently illuminated his features that were forming a good-natured smile. Rolling her eyes at him in mock exasperation, Hermione lightly slapped his shoulder.

"I was thinking about my name," she then said, feeling grave again.

"Uh-huh," Ron replied and Hermione knew what he was not quite following yet.

"I'm not certain which name I should assume after our wedding," she therefore explained.

"Don't get me wrong," she hurriedly added when she saw him furrow his brow in confusion and turned towards him, putting one arm around his shoulders and placing her free hand on the side of his head, and looked into his eyes. "Part of me, the _bigger_ part of me, wants to adopt _your_ name. Everything else would feel like a compromise and I don't want to make compromises where you are concerned." She ran her hand through his hair and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I want to be yours and I want to fully commit myself to you and your family, so adopting your name only makes sense. But then, I also want to honor my family and my background which is why I was thinking about _both_ keeping my maiden name _and_ adopting your name."

"Hermione Granger-Weasley," Ron tested the name. "Sure has a ring to it. It definitely sounds like the responsible high-ranking Ministry official you're gonna be," he added and Hermione could practically _hear_ his smirk.

"Yeah, I know," she said insecurely. "It sounds really pretentious, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's better than Grubbly-Plank," Ron replied, earning himself another slap.

"No, really," Hermione said with despair and pulled away to look at him. "What do _you_ want me to do?"

Ron's eyes widened with obvious alarm at being asked his opinion. "Really, Hermione, it's just a name-"

"A name that I intend to keep for the rest of my life-"

"Which is why it's not up to _me_ to make a decision," Ron said, trying and failing not to grin with unveiled pride at her declaration of commitment. "Choose whatever feels right to you. Whatever makes _you_ happy, makes _me_ happy."

Hermione could not help smiling at this, but his answer did nothing to solve her problem. "That's not helping," she complained.

"All right," Ron said, sitting more upright. "You want my opinion?"

"Yes, please."

"Well," Ron started and even in the dim light, Hermione could see his ears flush. "To be honest, I think that 'Ron Granger' sounds much better than 'Hermione Weasley'."

Hermione stared at him for a moment. "Are you serious?" she then asked incredulously.

"Well, it _does_ sound better, doesn't it?"

"I didn't mean that," Hermione said. "But... but are you really saying that _you'd_ assume _my_ name?"

"Why the hell not?" Ron asked. "After all," he added huskily and rested his forehead against hers. "I want to be yours and I want to fully commit myself to you and your family."

An overwhelming feeling of affection surged up in Hermione and, succumbing to her emotion, she threw her arms around Ron and squeezed him tightly to herself. This was yet another sign of how much he loved her. He was willing to give up his family name for her which meant not only a break with the social tradition of women adopting their husbands' names - no, in their world, it was also a matter of a pureblood taking on a Muggle name. Hermione thoroughly loathed thinking along the lines of a supremacist but she was well aware that not long ago, such a decision would have entailed a major stigma and yet, Ron would be doing it, just to make her happy. And she held him closer, wondering if the man in her arms even had the vaguest notion of how special he was.

It took several minutes until Hermione's thinking became clear enough become aware of another problem that Ron's suggestion brought about.

"Ron, you didn't seriously give me a _third_ option to choose from, did you?"


End file.
